


In Bondage To Sin

by LightningInABottle



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Aziraphale has two moods: winnie the pooh or dom master, Bondage, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Edging, Established Relationship, F/F, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female Crowley (Good Omens), Genderswap, Inappropriate Use Of Silk, Ineffable Wives, Kink Exploration, Light Bondage, Married Couple, Married Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Post-Apocalypse, Praise Kink, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Vaginal Fingering, no in between, so much praise kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 08:47:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19989349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningInABottle/pseuds/LightningInABottle
Summary: Married life wasn't exactly what they had expected—it was better.After years of work, Crowley and Aziraphale were finally settling into their new, domestic lives and moving on from their otherworldly restrains.Only it's a whole new kind of restraints that they walk into all-too-soon.





	In Bondage To Sin

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the Gay

**_Rome 41 AD_ **

Crowley had to hand it to Aziraphale—oysters really were fantastic. The slight grit of the crushed tomato flecks balanced out the slimy, salty taste of the seafood. That, and the expression on Aziraphale’s face, was almost enough to make Crowley’s day go from God-awful to fairly decent. She had just returned from one of Emperor Caligula’s parties, further cementing her belief that humans could come up with things a thousand times worse than demons. 

Like the Colosseum, for example. But that wasn’t relevant right now. And the whole Caesar thing, although that wasn’t to come for a couple more years.

“I haven’t the faintest why your lot stationed you here,” said Crowley, waving an empty shell around in a vague arc. “This city is beyond salvation if you ask me.”

“I think it’s quite quaint.” 

“Try boarding one of the Emperor’s boats and then talk to me about _‘quaint.’_ ”

“I truly am sorry you get seasick, Crowley, but I don’t understand why you must ruin _my_ fun.” Aziraphale ran her hands down the front of her toga, adjusting the winged brooch. “Perhaps I _will,_ just to see what all the fuss is about.”

The sudden desire to vomit up her lunch seized Crowley by the throat; which would have been unfortunate, for that meal had been rather nice. “Don’t think Upstairs would approve very much.” She sounded strained, even to her own ears.

“And why’s that?” 

Crowley momentarily considered trying to spare her innocence, but decided against it. One only lived once, after all. “Because they screw like rabbits out on Lake Nemi, angel.” She took up another shell, focusing on that instead of Aziraphale’s face. Certainly, the angel would be scandalized by even the implication of orgies. But no such response came.

“Ah, yes. I’ve heard the Romans do rather intricate things with ropes.”

Crowley choked on her oyster, spluttering and coughing like she might discorporate on the spot. “How…” She finally got out. “How in all of the blessed Heavens do you know _that_?”

Aziraphale’s lips curved up. “Why, there are diagrams.”

“ _Diagramss?”_ Crowley wanted Hell to come for her. She wanted to go back on that boat just so she could throw herself off of it. “ _Diagramssss?”_

“All for academic purposes, of course.” Aziraphale leaned back, looking far too smug for an ethereal being. “No need to hiss, dear girl.” 

Even hundreds and hundreds of years later, Aziraphale’s sly smile would remain at the forefront of Crowley’s mind.

* * *

**_Present Day_ **

They got married in a field, despite Crowley’s assurance that Aziraphale could just hold her above the floor in a bridal carry while they said their vows. Under the imminent fear that Heaven and Hell would attempt to crash the reception, they had teleported themselves and their luggage to a suite in France that miraculously found itself empty. The _Do Not Disturb_ sign was put up on the door, and it would stay there if it knew what was good for it.

For three days, the sign had worked perfectly. It was only on the fourth day that room service had taken it upon themselves to leave a gift basket in the tearoom. They hadn’t left without their fair share of mental scarring, though that was their own fault. 

Once the heavy bouts of laughter had subsided, and Crowley could talk without doubling over, she made a vague gesture towards the bottle of champagne left for them. “It’d be rude to leave such a nice gift lying around, dontcha think?” All it took was a wink, and Aziraphale readily agreed. 

They ended up in the hot, soothing water of the hot tub, part of the—admittedly expensive—bridal suite. A Persian-blue tiled ledge surrounded the very edges of the tub, lining the seats carved along the inside. It was just big enough to fit the two of them, though they were in close quarters. 

The champagne, already so close to empty, was an aged bottle of 2009 Louis Roederer Cristal. They had already knocked it into the tub twice, once without the neck corked. Now, Crowley was lounging back against the current of water massaging the small of her back. A pleased hiss left her, forked tongue flicking past her teeth for a mere moment. Aziraphale, currently situated across from her, raised an eyebrow. 

“Enjoying yourself, I presume?”

Crowley grinned, taking another sip of her champagne and letting the bubbles fizzle in her mouth. “You’ve _got_ to try these _jetssss_.”

Aziraphale gave her a pleased smile over the rim of her flute. “I knew you would like them, my dear. I picked this suite with you in mind.” 

That certainly explained the luxurious silk sheets. And the plasma screen television, which had been one of many underappreciated inventions Crowley came up with for Hell. Now that she thought about it, everything seemed to be tailored perfectly to both of them. Chewing on her lip, Crowley smiled. “You really do think of everything, don’t you?”

“Of course. It is our honeymoon, after all.” Aziraphale drained the rest of her glass and it promptly vanished. Some demonic part of Crowley really hoped that some angel, preferably Gabriel, got a notification every time Aziraphale used another frivolous miracle. She would have to get Aziraphale to perform some more decidedly sinful tricks to test that theory. But right now, she was completely focused on the way Aziraphale’s body moved through the water as she came to settle in Crowley’s lap. 

With a secretive smirk, she took Crowley’s glass and set it on the tile. Probably a dangerous place for it, but whatever. Crowley had bigger concerns. “You know, I’ve alwaysss liked this one particular human honeymoon tradition where—” 

Aziraphale cut her off with a kiss, lips plush yet insistent. The suddenness faded, replaced by a fluid push and pull that left Crowley wanting more. She leaned in with more eagerness, mouth falling open just enough to allow Aziraphale’s tongue in. Yes, this had to be her one of her favorite post-wedding things, right up there with the rings and saying ‘ _my wife.’_

When they finally pulled away, neither could quite look away.

“I chose the indoor hot tub for a reason, Crowley.” Aziraphale interlocked her fingers around the back of Crowley’s neck. She absentmindedly played with the shaved section of Crowley’s hair, trailing her touch down her neck, to the length of the rest of her curls. Her lips soon covered the trail her fingertips left, planting little kisses all the way down the column of Crowley’s throat. Crowley, needing to reciprocate in some way, ran her hands up Aziraphale’s sides to cup her breasts. Insatiable as ever, Aziraphale pressed closer with a small sound.

And suddenly, she found herself unable to hold back any longer. Her careful barrier of restraint snapped and fell away. Crowley grabbed at Aziraphale's body, grasping with covetous hands at whatever she could reach. She dug her nails into Aziraphale's shoulders, ran her palms down her spine until she could pull her closer by the backs of her thighs. 

Aziraphale, her reflexes quicksilver fast, snatched up Crowley's wrists and pinned them solidly against the outside of the tub. Her grip wasn't painful, but when Crowley struggled, she found she had not an ounce of leverage. Heat prickled its way down her spine, and her breath left her in a shaky moan. 

Her sigh of pleasure didn't quite register that way to Aziraphale, whose lips were just barely brushing Crowley's before suddenly pulling back. 

“Are you all right?” Aziraphale’s brows pinched together. Her smile had long faded, replaced by the furrow between her eyebrows. “I didn't mean to—”

Crowley scrambled for Aziraphale's hands, pulling them forward and guiding the fingers to wrap tightly around her wrists. She hoped the action would speak louder than words. 

And it did. 

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. A slow, mischievous smile spread across her lips. “Like it that way, do you?”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed as she gritted out, “Yes, I rather think that's— _oh_.” Crowley’s words fell short as Aziraphale shuffled forward to slot her thigh between her legs. And after thousands of years, she finally understood the whole lust and debauchery deal. Because she would Fall a thousand times over just for this, just for Aziraphale’s body pressed up against hers—for her sweet, soft mouth and the way it molded perfectly with Crowley’s own. 

Better than any forbidden fruit God could put in Eden, Crowley thought, when they were both dry and in bed. 

“So,” she coughed, trying and failing not to sound awkward. “Married, huh?”

Aziraphale looked over at her with a smile, hair curling up like a halo around her. “I’m glad you noticed.”

* * *

**_Three Months Later_ **

**_(In A Cottage In South Downs)_ **

Moving in was the only logical development, of course, and they took to domesticity like a duck to water. Also, ducks actually did settle in the little pond they cultivated in the expansive space behind their cottage, a quite pleasant addition to their newfound lives. This afternoon, however, they were to be disturbed. 

Someone inside the cottage shrieked with laughter. The ducks, in their panic, floundered and took flight.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Crowley said, peering out the kitchen window. “You scared the birds away.”

Aziraphale made a vague gesture with the plate she was holding. “They’re _waterfowl,_ Crowley.” 

“Same difference.”

“I can assure you, they are completely _different—_ ”

Crowley struck. 

She swooped up the last of Aziraphale’s pastry, a homemade apple pie, licking her fingers as she went. Aziraphale cried out in indignation.

“That was the last of our dessert, you _vixen!”_

“And it was _ssso good.”_ Crowley smacked her tongue with an exaggerated look of glee. Her smile widened the haughtier Aziraphale grew. She held up her now empty hand, wiggling her fingers tauntingly. “All gone.”

“You owe me.”

“Losers _weepersss_.”

Aziraphale might’ve looked threatening if not for the blush on her cheeks. She narrowed her eyes at Crowley. “You’re going to pay for that.”

“What’re you going to do? Sssmite me?” Crowley’s heart skipped a beat when Aziraphale’s expression didn’t falter. Her eyes darkened the longer she stared. When she spoke, she sounded completely serious.

“Maybe I will.”

Crowley smirked. “You’re gonna have to catch me firsssst.”

Aziraphale lunged, but she wasn’t quick enough to lay a hand on Crowley. Crowley slipped just out of reach, dashing out of the kitchen and into the living room, swerving to avoid bits of furniture. Aziraphale came running in after her, slipping and sliding on socked feet. 

“Too slow,” Crowley called, barricading herself behind the sofa. Aziraphale stalked forward slowly. Her legs tense, her muscles burning, Crowley waited. “Ssscared, angel?” In the curl of her tongue lay a poorly-veiled taunt.

Aziraphale took a calculated step towards Crowley. “Of what, you wily serpent? It would akin to playing with a kitten. Don’t you agree?” 

Crowley most certainly did not. But in the few seconds she gave it thought, Aziraphale made her move. 

Aziraphale leapt over the headrest and wrapped her arms tight around Crowley’s waist, throwing them both to the floor with an almighty _thump_. “Got you,” she managed to say. “Now I shall triumph over thee.”

“Oh _no,”_ Crowley said, and she flung her hand over her eyes. “I await my doom. “Or… I’ll _escape.”_

She threw her hands out against Aziraphale’s shoulders and knocked her off balance, just long enough to squirm out from under her. Aziraphale reached out to snatch up one of her wrists and hold it against the carpet.

“Come here, O wicked demon,” she cried. “I must smite thee.”

Crowley would have replied if she had the breath to do so. She laughed hysterically between gasps for air. She flung out her last hand in a poor attempt to ward Aziraphale away, only to have it entrapped against the floor as well.

The warm, solid weight of Aziraphale’s body settled over her, pinning Crowley completely to the carpet. Their noses touched with every giggle-filled exhale. Aziraphale’s breath fanned across her cheek. Crowley slithered away as best she could with a poorly-suppressed laugh.

“M’ticklish,” she mumbled, squirming beneath Aziraphale. 

“Are you, my dear?” Aziraphale’s smirk was nothing short of devilish. “I believe this needs further investigation.” Never one to back down, Aziraphale buried her face in the crook of Crowley’s neck and blew _hard_. Crowley didn’t have a chance in Heaven to catch her breath before all of it left her lungs in a hysterical shriek. And then she was dissolving into laughter, not even able to defend herself because Aziraphale, bastard angel that she was, still had her pinned to the floor.

The gentle tickles against her neck weren’t playful at all anymore—they were tiny kisses, pressed just along the edge of Crowley’s jawline. The hands upon her wrists tightened just enough to send the heat in her cheeks trailing somewhere else. 

“Did I win?” Aziraphale pulled away. Her smile hadn’t faded, not even a little bit. Then, their eyes met. 

Chest heaving, all Crowley could do was stare — stare at Aziraphale’s reddened cheeks and disheveled hair and rumpled blouse. She was almost certain her pupils had dilated to the size of Gabriel’s ego. Almost unconsciously, her tongue flicked out to scent the air, coming back with the smell of Aziraphale’s perfume, vanilla and jasmine. 

And of something else entirely. 

Aziraphale’s eyes darkened. Slowly, she took in the sight splayed out before her. Crowley, flushed and breathless underneath her. And all she could think about was that damned statue in Crowley’s flat, the one with the demon and angel wrestling. Of course, the sculptor had been wrong. It was semi-common knowledge that angels, given the opportunity to make certain specific efforts, were _not_ submissive. Or, at the very least, would never allow themselves to be manhandled in such a manner by one of the Fallen.

Vice versa, however, was another story. 

Aziraphale leaned down to press their lips together, hardly more than a brush of skin against skin, and Crowley let out a little whimper in the back of her throat. She surged up to meet her with fevered eagerness. She had to arch up simply to be able to reach Aziraphale. When she pulled away, Aziraphale’s curls brushed Crowley’s cheeks, as soft and as her lips. Slowly, not breaking eye-contact, Aziraphale ground her hips down. 

Crowley had to bite back a moan. “You’re going to kill me, angel.” 

“I certainly hope not.” Aziraphale ducked her head down to lavish Crowley’s neck with demanding kisses and gentle bites. Surely she held some sort of magic, for no creature could do with their tongue what Aziraphale could. Crowley’s skin was tingly, as if she was being set alight with every subtle shift of their hips. A gentle whistling left her with every breath. 

Crowley frowned. No, that wasn’t Aziraphale. The teapot in the kitchen squealed insistently. 

Aziraphale sighed, and her grip on Crowley loosened. “I suppose I better check the kettle, my dear. It’ll boil over.” She stood up and walked out of the room, adjusting her clothes, like nothing had happened. 

Crowley never imagined she could despise tea, but she glared at her cup the entire time Aziraphale poured it. They drank in silence, soon taking refills and retiring back to the living room, where Aziraphale curled up on the sofa with a book and Crowley stretched out next to her. However, Aziraphale was making no move to actually read, instead examining Crowley with a strange look on her face.

“Do I have tea leaves in my teeth, angel?” 

Aziraphale stammered out a ‘ _no’_ and looked away sharply, although soon her gaze wandered back. “I have been noticing your efforts as of late, and I want you to know that I very much appreciate them,” she said. 

Crowley raised an eyebrow, sitting up. “While I… _appreciate_ the sentiment, angel, where is this coming from?”

Aziraphale stroked her thumb across the inside of Crowley’s wrist. “You are quite fond of being a well-respected woman around me, aren’t you, my dear?” She looked up at Crowley from beneath her eyelashes, a coy sort of expression that made Crowley’s heart flutter. But it was Aziraphale’s words that gave Crowley pause. 

“What are you doing?” She narrowed her eyes, but Aziraphale’s expression remained perfectly innocent. 

“Praising you, my dear.”

She didn’t want to embarrass Aziraphale, but she couldn’t keep her face straight. “ _Thanks_ ,” she managed to choke out before bursting into a fit of laughter so strong it brought tears in her eyes. Her vision watered so badly she could hardly see, stomach aching the longer she carried on.

“You don't like it?” Aziraphale looked crestfallen. Her proud smile faltered, and faded away into something a little more awkward than sensual. 

Crowley tried to gather herself, if only for her angel’s sake. “Yes, well. I do value my ability to remain a ‘well-respected woman’ in your presence.” 

“I know you do.”

“But that’s not…” Crowley choked back her laughter. “Not how it’s done,” she gritted her teeth together, cheeks aching with the effort of trying to appear serious.

Blotches of dark red blossomed across Aziraphale’s cheeks. “I thought you _liked_ it when I complimented you!”

“Maybe if your wording wasn’t a few centuries too late, angel.”

Aziraphale looked rather put out. “Oh. I suppose I’d better do some research.”

And research, she did.

* * *

“Crowley…” said Aziraphale, one morning over breakfast. That first word by itself should’ve tipped Crowley off—at this hour it was always ‘ _my love’_ and ‘ _my dear’_ and when Crowley refused to get up and make coffee, it was ‘ _my infernal demon.’_ But never her first name. So when Aziraphale looked Crowley straight in the eyes over the dining room table and said: “How amiable would you be to letting me tie you up?”

Well, to put it mildly, Crowley was a bit shocked.

Actually, she spluttered so much she might as well have spat all of her espresso back in the mug. Then, she turned into a snake, dropping to the kitchen tile with a hiss of scales. _What. The. Fuck._ Her brain seemed to temporarily shut down, losing all coherent thought that wasn’t Aziraphale’s voice, repeating that blessed sentence over and over. Surely she had misunderstood? 

“Crowley! You can’t hide from this conversation.” Aziraphale scooped the snake up in her hands. “I figured that’d be something you desire. Sexually, I mean.” 

Despite her cold blood, Crowley felt hot all over, suddenly glad that she couldn’t speak. Could snakes even blush? This one did, apparently. She needed to pull herself together. She was a demon of Hell, for Satan’s sake, and she refused to let one measly question keep her from acting like a civilized occult being.

Turning back into a human, Crowley startled Aziraphale and flopped down on the sofa. She didn’t say anything for a while, suddenly wishing for her glasses to hide her face. Eventually, Aziraphale spoke. 

“If you don’t want to, that’s fine, of course. I just figured, with all the—”

“No,” Crowley blurted before she could stop herself. And stop Aziraphale from recounting every encounter they’d ever had. “I mean, yes. Yes. Yeah, I would, er. Be...amiable. Vaguely.”

Aziraphale beamed. “Perfect. Some research would have to be done. Well, already has been done.” 

Crowley blinked a few times before finally looking directly at her. “A bit presumptuous, don’t you think?”

“An educated guess.”

“An _educated guess_ my ass, angel. You just wanted an excuse to see me all bound up.” Crowley was in the unfortunate habit of cracking jokes whenever things got too uncomfortable. And Aziraphale was in the even more unfortunate habit of recognizing it.

“There’s no need to get defensive, Crowley. I promise to do everything I can to make things more comfortable for you.”

Crowley stared at the floor, all thoughts of coffee forgotten. What had she gotten herself into? Aziraphale looked all too eager, perching right next to her on the couch. No doubt she had read all about this kind of thing in her books, while Crowley only had nighttime fantasies and dreams for reference. 

“We’ll be needing a safeword, then. Something that you’d never say under regular circumstances.” Aziraphale’s face lit up. “Any suggestions?”

Crowley shrugged, suddenly very interested in examining her nails. How did Aziraphale _know_ all of this? She almost didn’t want to ask. “S’long as it’s not Gabriel.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

Crowley physically recoiled. “No way. Nope. Never. We are _not_ using ‘Gabriel’ unless you want me to be dryer than the Sahara.”

“But isn’t that the point? To put an end to the lovemaking, I mean.”

“Just say _sex_ like everyone else does, angel. And I just don’t want that...that _prick_ to have a place in our bed. What if you like, accidentally say his name or something? That’d be a—”

“ _Crowley_.” Aziraphale fixed her with a look that suddenly made Crowley feel very embarrassed.

“Sorry. And what if you accidentally summon him? Imagine, pompous Archangel materializing while you’re on top of me.”

Aziraphale pursed her lips to keep from laughing out loud. “He’d probably congratulate me on bringing a Fallen One to humble submission.”

“What, does he think you can fuck the good into me?”

Aziraphale grinned. “Never hurts to try.”

* * *

The first time they had tried exploring Crowley’s less-than-common interests had been nothing short of a disaster. In theory, their midnight rendezvous sounded fantastic — both of them would be satisfied, and that would be the end of it.

Of course, nothing ever went quite as planned when it came to them. 

Their brief dip into the sea of other kinks had gone as badly as expected; Crowley, in her embarrassment, had miracled herself away.

They hadn’t mentioned it since then.

A month had passed since then. Though subtle nerves still stirred in her heart, Crowley felt as though she had garnered enough courage to not flee the moment Aziraphale looked at her.

Said moment came not long after dinner, though Crowley wouldn’t realise that until later. 

* * *

Crowley’s jacket slipped from her shoulders into a heap on the carpet. Goosebumps broke out across her arms, trailing down to her legs. The air bit at her skin, but she didn’t feel it — her cheeks were burning, as was her gut with anticipation of what was to come. 

Or _who_ , to be exact.

Crowley took one backwards step after another until the back of her knees hit the blanket. Aziraphale guided her down until she was sitting on the edge of the bed. 

Aziraphale intertwined their fingers. “Do you trust me, my dear?” Her voice, though soft, held an underlying hint of something else—something Crowley couldn’t identify. She looked up; Aziraphale met her eyes and smiled. It was a gentle expression, one that calmed Crowley’s pounding heart, albeit not by much. Between their interlocked hands, she could feel their rings clinking together. 

They were married now. Aziraphale would never hurt her, nor betray her trust. The rings were proof of that. But that line of thought didn’t help unstopper her heart from in her throat. 

“Yeah, what kinda stupid question is that?” Crowley said, trying to bring a nonchalant smile to her lips. After a moment of silence, she felt a gentle touch beneath her chin. Aziraphale curled her fingers just so and lifted Crowley’s head until they were eye-to-eye. 

“But do you _trust_ me, Crowley?” Her hand drifted to Crowley’s jaw, playing a soothing, featherlight song over her cheek. “I could make you feel so _good_ if you let me.” 

Crowley felt a shiver travel down her spine at the words alone. She felt Aziraphale’s other hand move to wrap around Crowley’s wrist, grip tightening for a mere half-second. Her heart skipped a beat at the promise of things to come. Aziraphale could probably feel her pulse fluttering frantically like a caged bird. 

“I’ll take care of you…” murmured Aziraphale, leaning down to brush them into a kiss. When she pulled away, Crowley licked her lips as if to preserve the taste, and nodded. If her heart beat any faster, it was in imminent danger of escaping the confines of her ribs.

Aziraphale continued on, smoothing her hands over Crowley’s chest and guiding her to lean back on the bed. She seemed to know exactly what to say to make Crowley star-struck with desire. Her voice was as soft as downy feathers from the underside of a wing. “You’ve always been so perfect for me. Don’t you want to be good for me, Crowley?” 

Crowley nodded fervently. She could do nothing to stop her eager hiss. “ _Yesssss.”_

Aziraphale brushed her knuckles over Crowley’s cheek. Her entire face was alight with love. She gestured back towards the headboard. “Put your hands here, Crowley. ” A tortuously light touch to the inside of Crowley’s wrists. “Don’t move, my dear. You can stay still, can’t you?” 

Crowley nodded, swallowing hard. She lifted her hands, stretching her arms up until they touched the headboard. A slow smile spread across Aziraphale’s face. 

“ _Good girl._ ”

Crowley did her best not to fidget as she watched Aziraphale take one pure white length of fabric, appearing as if out of thin air. She flattened it out to wrap smoothly around Crowley’s forearm, looping it carefully around her slender wrists and tying the excess to the headboard. The smooth satin felt nice, comfortable without digging into her skin. She repeated the same movements on the other arm, tying Crowley’s wrists together securely above her head and fastening them to one of the bars of the headboard. 

She strained against the ties experimentally, but found that, despite the lack of discomfort, she was held tight. A low whine left her throat. Crowley should have been wary. Instead, she was anything _but_ nervous. Her eyes followed Aziraphale as she stepped away, pausing for a moment to admire the way Crowley was stretched out across the bedsheets. Her lingering gaze heated Crowley’s skin.

“Stay right there for me. Can you do that?” Aziraphale smoothed her hands over Crowley’s wrists, her arms, all the way down to her collarbone. Her fingertips left burning trails of heat on every place she touched. 

Crowley shivered. “Of course, angel.”

A slow smile spread across Aziraphale’s lips. “You’re doing so perfectly, my dear. Would you mind if I took off the rest of your clothes?” A mere snap of her fingers later, Crowley was completely bare. It was a startling thing, but Aziraphale soothed Crowley’s tenseness away with a kiss.

“That feels good, doesn't it?” Aziraphale pressed her lips to Crowley’s jaw, just below her ear. Steadily, she kissed her way lower.

If she had been able to, Crowley would have answered. But all she could manage was a breathless plea for more. Aziraphale hummed her approval under her breath. She spoke not with her voice, but with her lips. Crowley felt Aziraphale trace something onto her skin—a letter, maybe—with the tip of her tongue. She focused until, finally, she figured out what she was spelling. 

**G-O-O-D**

Crowley burned where Aziraphale’s tongue had been, as if holy water was being trailed across her skin. She couldn’t get enough of her, her words, and her touch. She twisted against her restraints, desperate to bury her fingers in Aziraphale’s hair and pull her close, but she couldn’t move an inch.

Aziraphale pulled away. “I thought you were going to stay still for me, my dear,” she said. She shook her head, as though disappointed. Crowley’s heart thundered in her chest. 

“ _Angel,”_ she arched up into Aziraphale’s touch, “please. Let me touch you.” 

Aziraphale tutted. “You were being such a good girl, Crowley.” She stroked her fingers over Crowley’s cheekbone. “Don’t you want to stay that way—all tied up and wanton for me?” Her words were reprimanative, but her eyes remained gentle with affection. 

If this was any other time, Crowley might’ve found it in herself to make fun of the word choice. But right now, she was stupidly desperate, all witty remarks fleeing her mind. Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat—her need had lodged itself firmly in her voice box—Crowley breathed, “I want to be good for you, angel.” The words sounded strange on her lips, making her skin go all tingly.

“Do you really? Can you prove it to me?” Aziraphale drew the very tips of her fingernails down the inside of Crowley’s arms. Even that touch, as featherlight as it was, sent shivers down Crowley’s spine. 

“ _Yessss.”_ Crowley’s words came out as a hiss. She let her body go lax, stretching out underneath Aziraphale, all but preening under her appreciative gaze. Leaning down, Aziraphale slid her tongue over Crowley's collarbone, down over her chest. She trailed lower, trailing her lips down over Crowley’s breast. Her teeth grazed over her nipple. 

Crowley gasped. She felt Aziraphale smile against her. 

“I knew you would be sensitive there,” she said, and she dragged her tongue over the hardened nub once more, tracing patterns over it that made Crowley gasp and arch into the touch. “You have always been sensitive…”

Crowley’s legs trembled and twitched. She pushed up, driving her hips against the material of Aziraphale’s skirt. Even that tiny bit of friction made her moan, Aziraphale pulled away, making a _tsk-tsk_ sound, and shuffled forward to instead straddle Crowley’s abdomen. Her hands roamed Crowley’s torso, gliding over the swell of her breasts only to run over the slope of her shoulders and back down again. Every time her fingertip would circle a nipple, Crowley would squirm and whimper.

Aziraphale paid her no mind, looking pleased as she witnessed what just mere touches could turn Crowley into. Eventually, her hand wandered back between Crowley’s legs, tracing her hipbones and thighs, but never quite where it was most wanted. 

Crowley arched up off of the sheets. “Angel, sssstop _teasing_.” 

“This isn’t teasing, my dear.” Aziraphale’s eyes wandered up the length of Crowley’s body until their gazes met. “But I could show you ‘teasing’ if you’d like.” 

Now, Crowley had no idea how to communicate _please don’t_ but also _please do_ without making a fool of herself, but she hoped the look in her eyes did the trick.

Aziraphale’s fingers slipped lower, caressing Crowley’s inner thighs. “Now, spread your legs for me…”

Spellbound, ensnared by the gentle praise in Aziraphale’s voice, Crowley could do nothing but obey. She bit down hard on her lower lip to stifle her moans. 

“Don’t do that, my dear. I want to hear you,” Aziraphale said, and she leaned in until their lips brushed with every word. “I want to hear your cries of pleasure, the very moment you come undone…” her tongue swiped over Crowley’s bottom lip, easing it away from her teeth.

Crowley let out a shaky breath, one that quickly turned into a low groan. When Aziraphale finally touched her, it was with gentle fingertips sliding up her wetness to press up against her clit. Pleasure raced through Crowley’s veins after not being touched for so long, and she rocked her hips up towards the touch. Just when the circles she was drawing between Crowley’s thighs got a little bit too fast, Aziraphale pulled away.

Crowley’s eyes were drawn to the slick shine on Aziraphale’s fingertips as she drew them up to her lips, a decidedly unholy look on her face. She watched, entranced, as Aziraphale’s tongue swept out to catch a bit of the wetness before she took them into her mouth. The sound she made was suspiciously similar to when she tried the first bite of a particularly decadent dessert. 

All of the breath left Crowley’s chest in one fell swoop. 

Aziraphale slipped her fingers out from between her lips. “ _God_ , you taste good.” 

Crowley’s smile felt about as weak as her facade of nonchalance. Which was to say, nonexistent. “Isn’t that blasphemy?”

“Are you sassing me, my dear?” Aziraphale gave her a tiny sly smile, one that grew the longer her eyes lingered. The heat of her gaze left no place on Crowley’s body untouched. “You do taste rather strongly of sulfur, now that I think of it.”

Now, Crowley wasn’t an idiot, nor was she stupid, nor was she anything close to what could be considered gullible. But she had never gotten in the habit of making efforts for anyone except the angel currently straddling her, and therefore couldn’t know if said angel was lying. Which made everything inconvenient. She could risk permanent embarrassment if she phrased this incorrectly, so she needed to think it through—”

“Shit, _really_?”

Immediately after speaking, Crowley went red. Here she was, completely naked, tied up, very much _in the mood,_ and she was insecure about _this_? She was struck by the sudden urge to discorporate on the spot, and was spared only by the way Aziraphale leaned in, a smirk spreading across her features. 

“Would you like to try?” 

Crowley’s eyes went a bit too comically wide and she nodded, unable to speak. Aziraphale, bracing herself on the bed, reached back between Crowley’s legs, and swiped two fingers through her folds, parting them in order to properly slick her fingertips. When she got what she came for, she returned, ignoring Crowley’s whimper of protest. With a gentle yet somehow wicked smile, she held her fingers up to Crowley’s lips. Everything went strangely quiet. 

Before she could second-guess herself, Crowley opened her mouth and let Aziraphale slip her fingers inside. 

“You like that, don't you?” Aziraphale purred, slowly stroking her fingers against Crowley’s tongue. “Of course you do, I told you that you taste so nice.”

The taste was...interesting. Salty, musky, sweet, Crowley couldn’t quite place it. But it was most definitely not like sulfur. She knew this because she, disobeying Hell’s instructions, did lick the walls at some point directly after her Fall. Even now, Crowley wasn’t entirely sure that she wasn’t sent up to Eden out of sheer frustration from the lower-downs. But that wasn’t relevant. 

The point was—thought Crowley as she hollowed her cheeks around Aziraphale’s fingers, obediently sucking her own taste from them—was that Aziraphale had _lied._ And she endeavored to inform Aziraphale of this as soon as she moved her hand back with a wet pop.

“Bastard,” she said, even as her cheeks turned pink. “Blessed liar.” Aziraphale silenced her with a kiss, and then another. And then, murmured between soft presses of their lips together: “Please touch me.” 

Aziraphale’s kisses trailed down to her breasts. Her tongue circled Crowley’s nipple, teasing her to near painful sensitivity. A gentle touch to the inside of her thighs renewed the throbbing pleasure between her legs, a touch that grew steadily bolder until it was exactly where Crowley so desperately needed it. The sensation of Aziraphale inside her was like nothing else she’d ever experienced.

“Tell me how it feels, my love.” Aziraphale’s voice was little more than a breathless whisper. Crowley trembled beneath her. 

“So _good_ , angel. I love you— _I love you—”_

Aziraphale silenced her with a loving kiss, a physical reply to Crowley’s heartfelt words. Her fingers, never faltering in their back and forth rocking, quickened with every second. 

Crowley tipped her head back against the pillows. It was too much; she couldn’t breathe. Her chest heaved uselessly. She was so close to the edge. Just a little more. Just a little _more—_

Aziraphale slowed, and the heat rolling in her gut ebbed away. A soft moan left her lips, and she found that she couldn’t even beg Aziraphale for more; all her words had vanished. 

She rocked her hips up to meet every thrust of Aziraphale’s fingers. A strange sort of heat rippled through her stomach with every movement.

Aziraphale’s fingers curled inward and brushed something inside of her that made Crowley jerk. Her mouth fell open with a wordless cry. 

She was so close, all she needed was just a little more...

And Aziraphale stopped again. Her fingers, curled deliciously inside of Crowley, went still. 

Crowley shuddered; the tight spring of heat slipped away, just out of reach. “Please don’t stop,” she pleaded, rocking up against Aziraphale’s hand. Aziraphale stroked over her slowly, almost thoughtfully. Tingles of pleasure chased after her fingertips.

“Not yet, my love,” she said. “Hold on. Don’t come until I say you can.” 

“ _Angel_.” 

“Can you follow my rules?” Aziraphale lifted her eyes from the hand between Crowley’s legs. There, in her gaze, Crowley saw a newfound slyness.

“Yes, _yes._ I can be so good for you.”

Aziraphale smiled. “A good demon. Who would’ve thought?” Then, she withdrew her fingers entirely. Crowley barely had time to make a noise of protest before Aziraphale was moving. So quick that Crowley could barely process it, Aziraphale slithered down Crowley’s body all the way to the bottom of the bed. Her gaze unfaltering, she pressed kisses to the inside of Crowley’s thigh. She trailed closer and closer, just inches away from where Crowley wanted her most.

Aziraphale smiled, dropped her gaze, and brought her tongue up against Crowley. Flattening it out, she gave one long lick, and Crowley suddenly forgot how to breathe.

She writhed against the sheets. It felt as though Aziraphale was inside her, deeper than she thought to be possible. The slick slide of Aziraphale’s tongue against her stole the breath from her lungs. 

“You taste so _divine_ , Crowley.” 

“Shit, _shit_ . I’m going _to—_ ”

“Not yet.” Aziraphale circled the tip of her tongue against the bundle of nerves between Crowley’s legs, then pulled away. Crowley was left throbbing, shaking right on the edge. Desperation had coiled up tightly in her gut, and her voice was thick with it as well. 

_“Pleasssse.”_ Her back arched off of the bed. “Angel, angel, _pleasse_.”

“You're doing so well, dear. You feel _incredible_. Just a little longer, all right? For me?” Aziraphale leaned down and brushed her lips over Crowley’s. Crowley could taste herself.

All Crowley could do was whimper in response and strain against her restraints. Never before had she wanted to touch Aziraphale more than she did in that moment. She squirmed in an attempt to get more friction, but Aziraphale gave her no leverage.

“Relax, my love, just relax.” Aziraphale lowered her mouth back between Crowley’s thighs, her tongue doing the most unholy things. And if that wasn’t enough, she _moaned,_ the sound vibrating on Crowley’s already-sensitive clit.

“ _Aziraphale—”_ Crowley clawed at the sheets.

“Let go for me,” Aziraphale whispered against her. 

Her words were a command Crowley couldn’t refuse.

Every muscle in her stomach tightened, like a spring pulling in teasingly more tense. She was close, so close that it was unbearable, and it only took the heat of Aziraphale’s mouth on her clit to send Crowley tumbling over the edge. She gasped for air as the tension grew to a crescendo—instead, a cry of pleasure escaped her. 

Pleasure washed over her with an intensity Crowley hadn’t known to be humanly possible—she could hardly comprehend it. Her vision whited out for a mere second, every muscle drawn taut. 

Time itself stood still. 

A moment later and she crashed back down to Earth with a gasp. 

She could say the sensation was almost alike that of early-stage Heaven—fluffy clouds, serene angel choirs, and whatnot. But this was better. Much, much better. 

Crowley pried open her eyes; they stuck with every blink. Her every limb weighed a ton, and she didn’t have the energy to lift even a single finger. 

Thankfully, Aziraphale did it for her.

“That was quite exciting, wasn’t it?” Aziraphale gave her an oddly innocent smile, as though they hadn’t just had the dirtiest sex of a lifetime. 

Exciting was too bland a word for what had just happened, even Crowley had to admit that.

Aziraphale snapped her fingers and the ties disappeared, vanishing from whence they came—which is, admittedly, unknown. Crowley, still dazed, brought her arms to fold over her chest.

“Wonder where those ended up. Doubt Upstairs would appreciate that particular gift very much,” she said. She was doing her best to handle her overwhelmed body with quips that rang hollow even to her own ears. Even so, it was kind of funny. Even if Aziraphale didn’t seem to think so. Another snap of her fingers and Crowley was clothed. Albeit, in a black tartan silk nightgown that horrified her to even think about.

It was still nice being looked after, though. 

Aziraphale slipped in bed next to her, drawing her as close as possible. Crowley rested her head against Aziraphale’s chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart. 

“You did so well,” murmured Aziraphale. “So well. I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?”

“No, no, angel.” Crowley shuffled even closer. “Absolutely perfect.”

“I adore you, my dear.” Aziraphale rubbed soothing circles into Crowley’s skin, just above her wrists. “You did so well, so, so well.”

Crowley leaned into the touch. “You mean it?”

“Of course I do.” Aziraphale paused and glanced down. “Your wrists… do they hurt?”

Crowley followed her gaze. There was a hint of rope burn around her wrists, though it was barely more than pink, irritated skin.

“I should get you something. A glass of water, or some cream for hands…” she began to sit up, but Crowley stilled her. 

“I just want you, nothing more,” she said. Aziraphale settled back down and curled up against Crowley’s chest; she pressed gentle kisses to Crowley’s wrists. Where her lips touched, the skin was—miraculously—soothed. Tangled together, their hearts slowed to a joined rhythm. “Love you,” she murmured. 

“I love you too,” Aziraphale whispered back. Crowley could hear the weight of her tenderness in her words.

“I guess this brings a new meaning to being in bondage to sin.” Crowley waggled her eyebrows. Aziraphale swatted her arm playfully. 

“I think it would be more accurate to call it being in bondage to virtue, dear.”

“I’m trying that on you next time, _then_ it’ll apply.” 

And even years afterwards, Crowley would never think of the phrase ‘in bondage to sin’ the same ever again. 

**Author's Note:**

> We aren't going to go to Hell for this, we're gonna saunter vaguely downwards.  
> Alice and I worked so hard on this, and we can’t wait to know what you think. Thank you so much for your support. ❤️ - Lana  
> Please comment your thoughts and thanks for reading!


End file.
